


The Right Way

by orphan_account



Series: Sledge Hockey [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amputee Jack, Discussions of marriage, Established Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Surgery, Sledge Hockey AU, Trans Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 20:58:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11768250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jack rolled his eyes, elbowing Bob lightly. “Is this really the treatment I get? I’m injured, papa. Surely you can do better.”“You’ve been spoilt,” Bob said dryly, shifting so he was sat up on the bed next to Jack. “I’m calling that husband of yours and telling him he’d better shape up or you’re going to become impossible.”Jack shivered at the sound of the word ‘husband’. “Well he’s not that. Um. Yet,” Jack said, and his voice went quiet. “Maybe soon, though.”





	The Right Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Omgpieplease (SceneryTurnedWicked)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SceneryTurnedWicked/gifts).



> So this is technically a part 1 of 3 in the Zimbits proposal. This is Jack talking about it with his dad, and the second bit will be Bitty thinking about marriage, and the third will be the actual proposal. I'm definitely not done with this universe.
> 
> This fic was deeply inspired by omgpieplease's art [here](https://omgpieplease.tumblr.com/post/164025866892/heya-part-iv-3-in-the-uh-nebulous-au-postop), in specific the bottom sketch of Jack getting hugs from his dad. All of us know by now that I have a universe sized softspot for Zimmerparents, and this sketch gave me feels literally all day. So first, go stare at that and bask in the glory of that art for ten hours, then come back and read this fic.
> 
> Disclaimer: The amazing characters of Check, Please belong to Ngozi. Bless her for gracing us with this wonderful world.

Jack hissed as he eased up in bed, the pillows behind him giving a barrier between himself and the headboard, but not enough that it could be considered comfortable. His stump was propped up high on a stack of pillows, the wrappings doing well enough to cover the stitches, but he knew what it looked like under there—bruised, dyed-yellow from the iodine which hadn’t completely washed off, the stitches a harsh black which wouldn’t be there too long, but long enough to be itchy and uncomfortable.

The surgery hadn’t been entirely unexpected. Jack’s remaining knee took the brunt of his weight-bearing, even if his legs were above industry standard for athletic prosthetics. His doctors had warned him he’d probably be needing a surgery or two as he aged, and likely a replacement, which he was grateful he wasn’t there just yet.

But it would be a while before he was back up and walking, and it didn’t help he’d managed to contract a small cold which he fully blamed on the kid at the pharmacy who had turned his head and sneezed directly on Jack’s face. Gulping two bottles of Emergen-C had done exactly jack and shit to prevent the germs from taking hold, and Eric was in New York for a conference which meant Bob had been sent down for care-giving duties.

Jack didn’t mind so much, really. Not now, anyway. His first stint of being stuck in a bed, unable to do much on his own, he’d resented his father. He’d blamed him for pushing Jack, for urging Jack to have dreams he could never fulfil. Maybe if he’d been born twenty-years later when actual progress took place in the world of politics and sport, but by the time the country got there, he supposed, he’d be retirement age.

It didn’t matter now, and Jack was more able to appreciate the caregiver nature of Bob that no one actually expected the man dubbed Bad Bob to actually possess. Only Jack and Alicia truly knew the extent of it, Jack having grown up listening to stories of how Bob wouldn’t let Alicia set a toe out of bed for the first three months. How Bob had exaggerated an injury to his knee in order to be scratched for two weeks when Jack came down with croup his first winter, and Bob had a string of roadies ahead of him. It was a secret they shared, the three of them—though now four, since Eric had been the one to suggest Bob coming, so it was obvious he could tell.

All the same, it was nice. There was a half-gone bowl of wonton soup on the nightstand, and the promise of more whenever Jack wanted. Bob had set the TV up on the dresser, and Jack’s wheelchair within reach if he felt like getting up—which right now, wasn’t going to happen. Not until Jack was desperate to move. It just wasn’t worth the violent twinges up his legs.

“Last time I had an epidural,” Jack groaned, shifting his weight a little as he tried to adjust the pillow behind his back. “Why didn’t they give me that again?”

“Because last time you lost a couple of limbs,” Bob said with a fleeting grin. They could joke about it now, but it was still a tender moment. Jack would never forget the look on Bob’s face when Jack had come to. He’d been in and out since the accident, but the drugs made it impossible for him to remember much. He was numb, and groggy, and all he could see was Bob’s face, and all he could hear was the way Bob’s voice wavered because he had been the one to tell Jack everything had changed. “You can handle a few stitches and an aching knee, son.”

Jack rolled his eyes, elbowing Bob lightly. “Is this really the treatment I get? I’m injured, papa. Surely you can do better.”

“You’ve been spoilt,” Bob said dryly, shifting so he was sat up on the bed next to Jack. “I’m calling that husband of yours and telling him he’d better shape up or you’re going to become impossible.”

Jack shivered at the sound of the word ‘husband’. “Well he’s not that. Um. Yet,” Jack said, and his voice went quiet. “Maybe soon, though.”

Bob swallowed, blinked, shifted more onto his side to look at Jack properly. “You…have a plan?”

Jack huffed. “I don’t ah…I mean, I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. I think he’ll say yes.”

Bob seemed unable to hold in his snort, shaking his head fondly. “He thinks the sun shines out your ass, Jack. I’m pretty sure that’s an automatic yes.”

Jack flushed, shoving at his dad a little, then hissing as he jostled his leg. “Yeah well…I mean…I brought it up the last time Bits and I were in Georgia.”

“Two years ago?” Bob asked, eyes wide. “And you didn’t propose right then?”

“I…I wanted to,” Jack admitted. “But I wanted it to be special, you know? Then things got busy, then we moved out of the haus, and…” Jack sighed, shrugging. “I don’t know what to do. Nothing I’ve thought of feels right, it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Well your mother and I…”

Bob’s words died as he looked at Jack’s unimpressed face. “I’m not going to get drunk and propose over rootbeer floats, papa.”

“No. Pie, maybe,” Bob chirped, and laughed when Jack elbowed him hard. “I’m just saying…”

“It has to be perfect,” Jack interrupted. “Because he’s perfect.”

It was likely the honesty in his words, like there was no other way Eric could be to Jack except perfect, that caused Bob’s eyes to go a little wide, a little watery. He shifted over, slinging an arm round Jack.

“Careful,” Jack murmured.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Bob promised, and Jack felt a shiver at the honesty in _that_ because he believed him. For so long Jack had felt anger—as misplaced as it was—and now there was just this. There was just the feeling of actual, honest unconditional love. It had always been there, it had just taken a while for Jack to see it.

They settled together, Bob with his arm round his son’s shoulders, the way he’d done when Jack was little. Bob had wrung out every free second he had to spend with Jack, never saying no, never wanting to deny him anything. When the world pushed against Jack, Bob had always pushed back.

“Last time we did this was with my top surgery,” Jack mused suddenly.

Bob’s eyes widened, then he laughed. “Right. That was so long ago.”

Jack let out a little sigh, his hand reflexively going to the space on his chest where the scars were. They were flat now, faded, ancient. As much a part of him as any of his other scars, but they were the most important ones. They were the ones of him taking control of his life, of his body, of giving himself something he’d always so desperately wanted.

Bob had been gentle with him back then, too. Jack had been almost surprised by it, by the way happiness shone out of Bob’s eyes. Jack hadn’t realised how much his father had wanted all of that for him, but it meant a lot. It meant everything.

It was the same way Bob was looking at Jack now, when facing the future of Jack and Bitty being together as long as they could be.

Jack let out a small puff of air. “What do I do? Papa…how do I…how do I do it right?”

“I don’t know. I was a colossal fuck-up when it came to everything with your mother. The proposal was ridiculous, we eloped after she had the blow-out with your bubbie, we found out she was pregnant with you because she went into the hospital thinking she had food poisoning.” He let out a slightly self-deprecating laugh. “I bought a house and forgot to tell her. She heard about the trade to the Habs on the radio for fuck’s sake. Son, you do not want to ask me for advice.”

“Crisse,” Jack muttered. “Yeah I should…definitely ask someone else. I really don’t want to fuck this up.”

Bob chuckled and laid his cheek on top of Jack’s hair. “I think you should trust yourself. You know Eric better than anyone. You know what he’ll love. And to be honest, I don’t think you could fuck it up, even if you tried. You could fall on your face, vomit on his shoes, insult Beyonce…”

“Woah,” Jack said, holding up a hand.

Bob laughed, “Okay maybe there _is_ a limit. But my point still stands. Eric wants to be with you. I don’t think he cares how it happens. Whatever you do will come from your heart, Jack, because that’s who you are. He trusts you. You should trust yourself.”

There was a long silence before Jack shifted more of his weight against his dad, closing his eyes. “You’re better at this than you think you are, papa. At least give yourself credit for that. That’s the best advice anyone could have given me.”

“It’s probably the meds talking, but I’m gonna need you to repeat all that while I record this. I need your mother to hear it.”

“Shut up,” Jack muttered. The meds were helping, leaving him fuzzy all over, feeling soft and comfortable. It would have been better with Eric there, but this would do. “Thank you, papa. I love you.”

Bob leant over and kissed his son’s temple, smoothing back his hair, then carefully shifting so he could ease Jack back down for sleep. “I’ll check on you in a little while, okay? Get some sleep.”

“Okay,” Jack said, and in minutes, he was drifting.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come shout at me on tumblr- [angryspace-ravenclaw](https://angryspace-ravenclaw.tumblr.com)


End file.
